The officer at the top of the stair stirred, shook himself and glanced down.
"Put out that light," he growled. "It's showing out of the door. The Germans will see it and send a shell across."
I put the candle out and stuck it in my pocket.
"Are you in pain now?" I asked the wounded boy.
"There's no pain now," was the answer. "It went away when you put the dressing on."
"Then we'll get along to the dressing-station," I said, and we clambered up the stairs into the open trench.
The sky, which was covered with dark grey clouds when I came in, had cleared in parts, and from time to time the moon appeared like a soft beautiful eye. The breezes held converse on the sandbags. I could hear the subdued whispering of their prolonged consultation. We walked along the peopled alley of war, where the quick stood on the banquettes, their bayonets reflecting the brilliance of the moon. When we should get as far as the trench where the dead Germans were lying we would venture into the open and take the high road to Maroc.
"So you've got a girl," I said to my companion.
"I have," he answered. "And she's not 'arf a one either. She's a servant in a gentleman's 'ouse at Y——. I was workin' for a baker and I used to drive the van. What d'ye work at?"